Working Man
by Angel Reid . Tobias Dominik
Summary: Richie's got a new job; Virgil finds it amusing...slash
1. Default Chapter

Title: Working man.  
  
Author: Angel Reid  
  
Summary: Richie has a job; Virgil finds it funny.  
  
Spoilers: To you people? Not really.  
  
Rating: pg-13. Lots of swearing.  
  
Warnings: Swearing and slash. The usual.  
  
Disclaimer: **holds up picture of stick figure Angel drawn on dry erase board.** This is me. **Erases it and draws Stick- Angel squashed under the weight of a lawsuit** This is me claiming to own Static Shock. Understand, my children?  
  
Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive. Will be on my ff.net account, too.  
  
A/N: (optional) I hate my work uniform. Richie should, too. I'm convinced my hat WILL eat me in my sleep, and my friend Ashley is the Hat's Spy....**shifty eyes** This was our exact conversation. I swear. XD  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"This is so not funny, Virgil. This hat is evil."  
  
Virgil sat perched on the edge of Richie's bed, eyeing the blond while trying not to laugh too hard. The over sized white button up shirt hung loosely on the thin teen., and the black pants did less to flatter him. But the cause of Virgil giggling like a school girl would have had to of been the black hat Richie held, poised to place on his head.  
  
"It's not that evil, Rich. Look, it's cute. It looks pretty good on you."  
  
Richie's eyes narrowed as he placed the hat on his head. He'd gotten a job at the local golf course, mainly because it was close to his home and the school. The hat, and the uniform, had come with the job, and while Richie hated it, Virgil found it highly amusing.  
  
"It can't look good on me, because it makes me look fat."  
  
Virgil rolled his eyes, standing up, stretching, and plucking the hat from Richie's head. Placing it on his own, he went to stand before the full length mirror in Richie's closet. Turning to the side, he tossed a glance at Richie, smirking.  
  
"What are you, Daisy? You're almost as bad as she is, going on about being fat. You're not fat, not even close. You've got muscle, sure, but that's not fat. I'd know if it were fat."  
  
And so he would; he spent more time memorizing Richie's body then the blond himself. He knew every muscle, every crease. Richie didn't mind; those were the things that made it okay to be overly worried if one of them were more then an hour late to a meeting. Of course, while Virgil would not admit to their secret relation, Richie wished he could tell the world. As long as the world didn't make him wear the stupid hat, he'd be fine.  
  
"Fine, I'm not fat. This stupid fucking outfit just makes me LOOK it. And I don't DO hats. They look bad on me, horribly bad."  
  
Virgil sat back down on the bed, pulling the hat backwards on his head. Stretching out, he peered over at Richie, trying not to laugh again at the sour look on his friends face.  
  
"Oh, come on, Richie. It's not that bad; just think of the money!"  
  
"I don't see how money compensates for me wearing that hat, V."  
  
"And I don't see why you're complaining over a hat!"  
  
"It's the embodiment of all evil! Can't you see that? Just look at it...it wants to eat me while I'm sleeping."  
  
Virgil stared at Richie for a moment, then burst into laughter. Grabbing Richie's shirt, he pulled the other teen onto the bed with him. Richie fell on top of Virgil, and the darker teen smirked up at the blond.  
  
"Fancy that, the hat's not alone."  
  
Richie turned red. Virgil didn't understand that the hat was evil. Because it was; the hat was more evil then...well, anything they'd ever fought. Although he did like the effect that the hat was having on Virgil.  
  
"That's not what I meant and you...wait a sec...your in league with the hat, aren't you? You're a spy for the hat!"  
  
Virgil burst into laughter.  
  
"You caught me! I'm a spy. Whatever should you do?"  
  
Richie grinned, pinning Virgil to the bed with one swift movement.  
  
"..would rape, in any way, teach you the evils of the hat?"  
  
Virgil laughed, leaning up to kiss Richie.  
  
"Might help to repent me. The hat's not that evil, though. Seriously. It looks cute."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. This was one argument Virgil wouldn't drop, it seemed.  
  
"Fine, fine. But I still don't like it."  
  
Virgil grinned.  
  
"No one said you had to, Rich." 


	2. Work sucks

Warnings: Swearing and slash. The usual.  
  
A/N: (optional) Everyone wanted to see Richie's first day on the job. It'll go basically the same as mine. And just so you all know...I had to quit my first day. I was allergic to the dish soap, and the heat made me nauseous...Pity me, people. I still have to pay rent!

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

"Okay, Richie. I'll come pick you up when you call, alright?"  
  
Richie nodded, eyes on Virgil as the teen patted his shoulder. Virgil had only recently received his license; and as Richie's parents were no where's to be found, the teen had asked his friend to drive him to his first day of work. Exiting the car, Richie nodded.  
  
"Alright. Keep your cell on, just in case."  
  
Virgil nodded, and Richie closed the door, waving sadly as his boyfriend pulled out of the parking lot. Taking a deep breath, he made his way into the club house, entering the locker room when he found it. Two men were standing around, talking as they tied up their shoes, and Richie opened his locker to stash his sweater. Locking up the locker again, he slipped out of the room; going un noticed by the two golfers.  
  
"You must be Richie Foley. I'm Terry, you're boss. Come on in here, I'll show you how to work the dish washer."  
  
Richie's eyes widened as a hand landed on his shoulder and steered him into the warm room across from the locker room. Looking behind him, he saw that the hand belonged to an older man, wearing a chef's hat and an apron. As he was led to what looked like a large, metallic box with a hand, the man stopped, motioning for Richie to look at the sink beside the machine.  
  
"You'll scrub the dishes here first, then put them into the dishwasher."  
  
Pulling the handle on the metallic box up, Richie saw that it was, indeed, a very large, industrial dish washer. Already filing the design away for later use, he nodded, watching as Terry washed a few dishes quickly and placed them in the washer. Pulling the cover of the machine back down, he pointed to a button.  
  
"Now you press this button, but only once you're sure the cover's on all the way. It'll do a rinse and wash, and then you can put the dishes away. It's hot, so you should wait a few minutes before touching the plates, alright?"  
  
Richie nodded, silently acknowledging that the machine could reach scalding levels on his own. Terry nodded, and went to go work on some of the orders, leaving Richie to stand around, watching him silently from his side of the kitchen.  
  
"I'm not paying you to stand around, you know. Clean up or something until the rush starts."  
  
Richie flushed, taking a cloth and a bucket, and began to clean the counters around him.  
  
Richie had only been working for two hours, and already he wanted to go home. It was hot, it was stuffy, and he was finding it unbelievably hard to breath. He didn't want to quit, though; Virgil had been so proud of him, not to mention his mother. His father hadn't even known about the job.  
  
"Hey kid, are you alright? You don't look so good."  
  
The other cook, Ian, had arrived not that long ago; he was a nice guy, and on any other occasion, Richie would have been cracking jokes along with him. But at this moment, the blondes main concern was to not burst into tears and run from the room crying.  
  
"I'm o-okay."  
  
Both cooks looked at the teen; he sounded on the verge of tears. Richie wanted to cry; he didn't know why. It could have been the stress, but the job was less then stressful on him, so he couldn't believe that was the cause. Trying to take a deep breath, he let out a choked sob, wiping his eyes on his damp hands.  
  
"Hey, hey. Richie, do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?"  
  
Ian's question and concerned look caught Richie's attention; he looked up, trying to smile and failing miserably. Wiping at his eyes again, furious that he was being so weak, he shook his head quickly; then nodded as his stomach growled.  
  
"Y-yeah. Can I have some toast, please?"  
  
Terry looked over, eyes on the teen as he leaned against the sink. A tear escaped his furious rubbing, trailing a thin line down his cheek as he sniffled.  
  
"Just toast? Hey...are you sure you're okay? Here, come sit down for a bit."  
  
Leading Richie out of the kitchen, the older man sat him on one of the chairs in the hallway, next to the phone. Hesitantly, he kneeled beside Richie, and the blonde's head snapped up at the hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Hey. If this job's too much, you just tell me, all right? This job's pretty hard to start out with; not even I could handle it on my first day. So if you can't handle it, it's okay; you're only here for a trial run anyways, remember? This is a favor for Mr. Hawkins. The job will always be open to you, don't worry about that. Alright?"  
  
Richie nodded as Ian appeared, plate in hand, and gave him his toast. Both cooks returned to the kitchen, and Richie sat, nibbling on his toast and silently crying. He felt stupid; this was a simple job with good pay. He should be whipping through it, no deal, but instead he sat in the hallway, crying and eating toast. He felt like he'd throw up; he felt nauseous as well. Entering the kitchen, he dumped the toast he hadn't eaten and turned to Terry.  
  
"I can't do it. I can't handle this job. I'm sorry."  
  
Putting the dish in the sink, he looked at his feet. He felt ashamed; he'd only lasted three hours, what did that say about him? Looking up when a hand landed on his shoulder, he saw Terry's understanding smile.  
  
"Hey, that's okay. Is there anyone you can call to pick you up?"  
  
Richie nodded, and Terry lead him out to the phone. Telling him to just leave the white shirt and hat in his locker, the man left, giving Richie the privacy he needed to phone Virgil. After ditching the work clothes, Richie picked up the phone and dialed Virgil's cell.  
  
"Hey, Virgil here."  
  
Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Richie glanced at the phonebook opened on the cherry wood table in front of him.  
  
"V? Can you c-come pick me up now?"  
  
On the other end of the line, Virgil looked shocked. Richie wasn't suppose to be off for another four hours. Had something happened to him?  
  
"Are you alright, Richie? You...are you crying? Oh god, what happened, Rich?"  
  
Richie wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling and trying to hold back a sob. He felt so stupid, standing there in the hall of the club house, sobbing into the phone that he wanted to be picked up.  
  
"I had to quit. I...V, just...please...I'll meet you at the end of the road."  
  
As Virgil told him he'd be there in a moment, Richie hung up, beginning to walk out of the club house. Opening the door, he noted how nice it was outside; it had been foggy out when he'd left Virgil's house that morning. Walking up to the parking lot, he looked around; promptly bursting into a fresh set of tears as he began his walk down the drive of the course.  
  
"I'm so st-stupid. I can't even handle one d-day of it; how can I handle a whole year of it? I'm such a f-failure. Man...I'm such a failure!"  
  
As he walked, a car pulled up along side him, the elderly gentleman inside rolling down his window.  
  
"Do you need a lift to the end of the drive, sonny?"  
  
Richie looked up; he hadn't noticed the car pull up. Shaking his head, he wiped at his eyes, trying to hide all evidence that he'd been crying.  
  
"No. I'm alright. Thank you anyways."  
  
The man smiled and nodded, then left. Moments later, Richie saw the familiar car coming towards him, racing to it, he pulled open the door and flung himself into Virgil's arms.  
  
"I'm such a failure, Virgil! I couldn't handle one day! I quit! I'm a quitter, and a failure, and I'll never hear the end of it, and I just want to go curl up and die!"  
  
The tears started up again as Virgil rubbed Richie's back. He'd never seen the blonde so distraught, and it was an interesting sight, to say the least.  
  
"It's okay, Richie. It was you're first job besides being a super hero, and you're not expected to do perfect on your first job. If you remember, I quit my first job at the gas station. I only lasted three days."  
  
Richie nodded, sobs subsiding as he allowed Virgil to sooth away his pain. He hated this feeling of failure. He' d never failed at anything as important as this.  
  
"I still feel like a failure. It was such a simple job."  
  
Virgil gently tugged Richie's face upwards so he could kiss away the tears trailing down his lover's cheek. Richie sighed as Virgil placed a sugary sweet kiss on his lips , then leaned against him as much as his seat belt would allow as Virgil placed his own seatbelt on and started the car.  
  
"How about we go home, and you take a nice, long, relaxing bath. Hmm? How's that sound. I'll even put in lavender and jasmine and sit with you. With a stereo."  
  
Richie smiled softly, leaning up to plant a kiss on Vigil's cheek.  
  
"Sound's perfect. How about you join me, though, instead?"  
  
Virgil smiled as they pulled out of the drive, and as a though crossed his mind, his smile widened.  
  
"At least you're rid of that evil hat..."

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And so, it ends...unless you want me to elaborate on something. I'm always up for that. Let me tell you; that bath? I stayed in it for two hours, with the radio on and my big old Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix book, crying my eyes out. Poor Richie; that was the worst feeling in the world...sighs Ah, well. Reviews are welcomed. With toast. 


End file.
